As saint
of our own time and as the first United States citizen to be elevated to
sainthood, Mother Cabrini has a double claim on our interest. Foundress of the
Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart and pioneer worker for the welfare of
dispersed Italian nationals, this diminutive nun was responsible for the
establishment of nearly seventy orphanages, schools, and hospitals, scattered
over eight countries in Europe, North, South, and Central America. Still living
are pupils, colleagues, and friends who remember Mother Cabrini vividly; her
spirit continues to inspire the nuns who received their training at her hands.
Since the record remains fresh in memory, and since the saint's letters and
diaries have been carefully preserved, we have more authentic information about
her, especially of the formative years, than we have concerning any other saint.

Francesca Cabrini was born on July 15, 1850, in the village of Sant' Angelo,
on the outskirts of Lodi, about twenty miles from Milan, in the pleasant,
fertile Lombardy plain. She was the thirteenth child of a farmer's family, her
father Agostino being the proprietor of a modest estate. The home into which she
was born was a comfortable, attractive place for children, with its flowering
vines, its gardens, and animals; but its serenity and security was in strong
contrast with the confusion of the times. Italy had succeeded in throwing off
the Austrian yoke and was moving towards unity. Agostino and his wife Stella
were conservative people who took no part in the political upheavals around
them, although some of their relatives were deeply concerned in the struggle,
and one, Agostino Depretis, later became prime minister. Sturdy and pious, the
Cabrinis were devoted to their home, their children, and their Church. Signora
Cabrini was fifty-two when Francesca was born, and the tiny baby seemed so
fragile at birth that she was carried to the church for baptism at once. No one
would have ventured to predict then that she would not only survive but live out
sixty-seven extraordinarily active and productive years. Villagers and members
of the family recalled later that just before her birth a flock of white doves
circled around high above the house, and one of them dropped down to nestle in
the vines that covered the walls.

The father took the bird, showed it to his children, then released it to fly
away.

Since the mother had so many cares, the oldest daughter, Rosa, assumed charge
of the newest arrival. She made the little Cecchina, for so the family called
the baby, her companion, carried her on errands around the village, later taught
her to knit and sew, and gave her religious instruction. In preparation for her
future career as a teacher, Rosa was inclined to be severe. Her small sister's
nature was quite the reverse; Cecchina was gay and smiling and teachable.
Agostino was in the habit of reading aloud to his children, all gathered
together in the big kitchen. He often read from a book of missionary stories,
which fired little Cecchina's imagination. In her play, her dolls became holy
nuns. When she went on a visit to her uncle, a priest who lived beside a swift
canal, she made little boats of paper, dropped violets in them, called the
flowers missionaries, and launched them to sail off to India and China. Once,
playing thus, she tumbled into the water, but was quickly rescued and suffered
only shock from the accident.

At thirteen Francesca was sent to a private school kept by the Daughters of
the Sacred Heart. Here she remained for five years, taking the course that led
to a teacher's certificate. Rosa had by this time been teaching for some years.
At eighteen Francesca passed her examinations, <cum laude>, and then
applied for admission into the convent, in the hope that she might some day be
sent as a teacher to the Orient. When, on account of her health, her application
was turned down, she resolved to devote herself to a life of lay service. At
home she shared wholeheartedly in the domestic tasks. Within the next few years
she had the sorrow of losing both her parents. An epidemic of smallpox later ran
through the village, and she threw herself into nursing the stricken. Eventually
she caught the disease herself, but Rosa, now grown much gentler, nursed her so
skillfully that she recovered promptly, with no disfigurement. Her oval face,
with its large expressive blue eyes, was beginning to show the beauty that in
time became so striking.

Francesca was offered a temporary position as substitute teacher in a village
school, a mile or so away. Thankful for this chance to practice her profession,
she accepted, learning much from her brief experience. She then again applied
for admission to the convent of the Daughters of the Sacred Heart, and might
have been accepted, for her health was now much improved. However, the rector of
the parish, Father Antonio Serrati, had been observing her ardent spirit of
service and was making other plans for her future. He therefore advised the
Mother Superior to turn her down once more.

Father Serrati, soon to be Monsignor Serrati, was to remain Francesca's
lifelong friend and adviser. From the start he had great confidence in her
abilities, and now he gave her a most difficult task. She was to go to a
disorganized and badly run orphanage in the nearby town of Cadogno, called the
House of Providence. It had been started by two wholly incompetent laywomen, one
of whom had given the money for its endowment. Now Francesca was charged
"to put things right," a large order in view of her youth-she was but
twenty-four-and the complicated human factors in the situation. The next six
years were a period of training in tact and diplomacy, as well as in the
everyday, practical problems of running such an institution. She worked quietly
and effectively, in the face of jealous opposition, devoting herself to the
young girls under her supervision and winning their affection and cooperation.
Francesca assumed the nun's habit, and in three years took her vows. By this
time her ecclesiastical superiors were impressed by her performance and made her
Mother Superior of the institution. For three years more she carried on, and
then, as the foundress had grown more and more erratic, the House of Providence
was dissolved. Francesca had under her at the time seven young nuns whom she had
trained. Now they were all homeless.

At this juncture the bishop of Lodi sent for her and offered a suggestion
that was to determine the nun's life work. He wished her to found a missionary
order of women to serve in his diocese. She accepted the opportunity gratefully
and soon discovered a house which she thought suitable, an abandoned Franciscan
friary in Cadogno. The building was purchased, the sisters moved in and began to
make the place habitable. Almost immediately it became a busy hive of activity.
They received orphans and foundlings, opened a day school to help pay expenses,
started classes in needlework and sold their fine embroidery to earn a little
more money. Meanwhile, in the midst of superintending all these activities,
Francesca, now Mother Cabrini, was drawing up a simple rule for the institute.
As one patron, she chose St. Francis de Sales, and as another, her own name
saint, St. Francis Xavier. The rule was simple, and the habit she devised for
the hard-working nuns was correspondingly simple, without the luxury of
elaborate linen or starched headdress. They even carried their rosaries in their
pockets, to be less encumbered while going about their tasks. The name chosen
for the order was the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart.

With the success of the institute and the growing reputation of its young
founder, many postulants came asking for admission, more than the limited
quarters could accommodate. The nuns' resources were now, as always, at a low
level; nevertheless, expansion seemed necessary. Unable to hire labor, they
undertook to be their own builders. One nun was the daughter of a bricklayer,
and she showed the others how to lay bricks. The new walls were actually going
up under her direction, when the local authorities stepped in and insisted that
the walls must be buttressed for safety. The nuns obeyed, and with some outside
help went on with the job, knowing they were working to meet a real need. The
townspeople could not, of course, remain indifferent in the face of such
determination. After two years another mission was started by Mother Cabrini, at
Cremona, and then a boarding school for girls at the provincial capital of
Milan. The latter was the first of many such schools, which in time were to
become a source of income and also of novices to carry on the ever-expanding
work. Within seven years seven institutions of various kinds, each founded to
meet some critical need, were in operation, all staffed by nuns trained under
Mother Cabrini.

In September, 1887, came the nun's first trip to Rome, always a momentous
event in the life of any religious. In her case it was to mark the opening of a
much broader field of activity. Now, in her late thirties, Mother Cabrini was a
woman of note in her own locality, and some rumors of her work had undoubtedly
been carried to Rome. Accompanied by a sister, Serafina, she left Cadogno with
the dual purpose of seeking papal approval for the order, which so far had
functioned merely on the diocesan level, and of opening a house in Rome which
might serve as headquarters for future enterprises. While she did not go as an
absolute stranger, many another has arrived there with more backing and stayed
longer with far less to show.

Within two weeks Mother Cabrini had made contacts in high places, and had
several interviews with Cardinal Parocchi, who became her loyal supporter, with
full confidence in her sincerity and ability. She was encouraged to continue her
foundations elsewhere and charged to establish a free school and kindergarten in
the environs of Rome. Pope Leo XIII received her and blessed the work. He was
then an old man of seventy-eight, who had occupied the papal throne for ten
years and done much to enhance the prestige of the office. Known as the
"workingman's Pope" because of his sympathy for the poor and his
series of famous encyclicals on social justice, he was also a man of scholarly
attainments and cultural interests. He saw Mother Cabrini on many future
occasions, always spoke of her with admiration and affection, and sent
contributions from his own funds to aid her work.

A new and greater challenge awaited the intrepid nun, a chance to fulfill the
old dream of being a missionary to a distant land. A burning question of the day
in Italy was the plight of Italians in foreign countries. As a result of hard
times at home, millions of them had emigrated to the United States and to South
America in the hope of bettering themselves. In the New World they were faced
with many cruel situations which they were often helpless to meet. Bishop
Scalabrini had written a pamphlet describing their misery, and had been
instrumental in establishing St. Raphael's Society for their material
assistance, and also a mission of the Congregation of St. Charles Borromeo in
New York. Talks with Bishop Scalabrini persuaded Mother Cabrini that this cause
was henceforth to be hers.

In America the great tide of immigration had not yet reached its peak, but a
steady stream of hopeful humanity from southern Europe, lured by promises and
pictures, was flowing into our ports, with little or no provision made for the
reception or assimilation of the individual components. Instead, the newcomers
fell victim at once to the prejudices of both native-born Americans and the
earlier immigrants, who had chiefly been of Irish and German stock. They were
also exploited unmercifully by their own padroni, or bosses, after being drawn
into the roughest and most dangerous jobs, digging and draining, and the almost
equally hazardous indoor work in mills and sweatshops. They tended to cluster in
the overcrowded, disease-breeding slums of our cities, areas which were becoming
known as "Little Italies." They were in America, but not of it. Both
church and family life were sacrificed to mere survival and the struggle to save
enough money to return to their native land. Cut off from their accustomed ties,
some drifted into the criminal underworld. For the most part, however, they
lived forgotten, lonely and homesick, trying to cope with new ways of living
without proper direction. "Here we live like animals," wrote one
immigrant; "one lives and dies without a priest, without teachers, and
without doctors." All in all, the problem was so vast and difficult that no
one with a soul less dauntless than Mother Cabrini's would have dreamed of
tackling it.

After seeing that the new establishments at Rome were running smoothly and
visiting the old centers in Lombardy, Mother Cabrini wrote to Archbishop
Corrigan in New York that she was coming to aid him. She was given to understand
that a convent or hostel would be prepared, to accommodate the few nuns she
would bring.

Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding as to the time of her arrival, and
when she and the seven nuns landed in New York on March 31, 1889, they learned
that there was no convent ready. They felt they could not afford a hotel, and
asked to be taken to an inexpensive lodging house. This turned out to be so
dismal and dirty that they avoided the beds and spent the night in prayer and
quiet thought. But the nuns were young and full of courage; from this bleak
beginning they emerged the next morning to attend Mass. Then they called on the
apologetic archbishop and outlined a plan of action. They wished to begin work
without delay. A wealthy Italian woman contributed money for the purchase of
their first house, and before long an orphanage had opened its doors there. So
quickly did they gather a house full of orphans that their funds ran low; to
feed the ever-growing brood they must go out to beg. The nuns became familiar
figures down on Mulberry Street, in the heart of the city's Little Italy. They
trudged from door to door, from shop to shop, asking for anything that could be
spared—food, clothing, or money.

With the scene surveyed and the work well begun, Mother Cabrini returned to
Italy in July of the same year. She again visited the foundations, stirred up
the ardor of the nuns, and had another audience with the Pope, to whom she gave
a report of the situation in New York with respect to the Italian colony. Also,
while in Rome, she made plans for opening a dormitory for normal-school
students, securing the aid of several rich women for this enterprise. The
following spring she sailed again for New York, with a fresh group of nuns
chosen from the order. Soon after her arrival she concluded arrangements for the
purchase from the Jesuits of a house and land, now known as West Park, on the
west bank of the Hudson. This rural retreat was to become a veritable paradise
for children from the city's slums. Then, with several nuns who had been trained
as teachers, she embarked for Nicaragua, where she had been asked to open a
school for girls of well-to-do families in the city of Granada. This was
accomplished with the approbation of the Nicaraguan government, and Mother
Cabrini, accompanied by one nun, started back north overland, curious to see
more of the people of Central America. They traveled by rough and primitive
means, but the journey was safely achieved. They stopped off for a time in New
Orleans and did preparatory work looking to the establishment of a mission. The
plight of Italian immigrants in Louisiana was almost as serious as in New York.
On reaching New York she chose a little band of courageous nuns to begin work in
the southern city. They literally begged their way to New Orleans, for there was
no money for train fare. As soon as they had made a very small beginning, Mother
Cabrini joined them. With the aid of contributions, they bought a tenement which
became known as a place where any Italian in trouble or need could go for help
and counsel. A school was established which rapidly became a center for the
city's Italian population. The nuns made a practice too of visiting the outlying
rural sections where Italians were employed on the great plantations.

The year that celebrated the four hundredth anniversary of Columbus' voyage
of discovery, 1892, marked also the founding of Mother Cabrini's first hospital.
At this time Italians were enjoying more esteem than usual and it was natural
that this first hospital should be named for Columbus. Earlier Mother Cabrini
had had some experience of hospital management in connection with the
institution conducted by the Congregation of St. Charles Borromeo, but the new
one was to be quite independent. With an initial capital of two hundred and
fifty dollars, representing five contributions of fifty dollars each, Columbus
Hospital began its existence on Twelfth Street in New York. Doctors offered it
their services without charge, and the nuns tried to make up in zeal what they
lacked in equipment. Gradually the place came to have a reputation that won for
it adequate financial support. It moved to larger quarters on Twentieth Street,
and continues to function to this day.

Mother Cabrini returned to Italy frequently to oversee the training of
novices and to select the nuns best qualified for foreign service. She was in
Rome to share in the Pope's Jubilee, celebrating his fifty years as a churchman.
Back in New York in 1895, she accepted the invitation of the Archbishop of
Buenos Aires to come down to Argentina and establish a school. The Nicaraguan
school had been forced to close its doors as a result of a revolutionary
overthrow of the government, and the nuns had moved to Panama and opened a
school there. Mother Cabrini and her companion stopped to visit this new
institution before proceeding by water down the Pacific Coast towards their
destination. To avoid the stormy Straits of Magellan they had been advised to
make the later stages of the journey by land, which meant a train trip from the
coast to the mountains, across the Andes by mule-back, then another train trip
to the capital. The nuns looked like Capuchin friars, for they wore brown
fur-lined capes. On their unaccustomed mounts, guided by muleteers whose
language they hardly understood, they followed the narrow trail over the
backbone of the Andes, with frightening chasms below and icy winds whistling
about their heads. The perilous crossing was made without serious mishap. On
their arrival in Buenos Aires they learned that the archbishop who had invited
them to come had died, and they were not sure of a welcome. It was not long,
however, before Mother Cabrini's charm and sincerity had worked their usual
spell, and she was entreated to open a school. She inspected dozens of sites
before making a choice. When it came to the purchase of land she seemed to have
excellent judgment as to what location would turn out to be good from all points
of view. The school was for girls of wealthy families, for the Italians in
Argentina were, on the average, more prosperous than those of North America.
Another group of nuns came down from New York to serve as teachers. Here and in
similar schools elsewhere, today's pupils became tomorrow's supporters of the
foundations.

Not long afterward schools were opened in Paris, in England, and in Spain,
where Mother Cabrini's work had the sponsorship of the queen. From the Latin
countries in course of time came novice teachers for the South American schools.
Another southern country, Brazil, was soon added to the lengthening roster, with
establishments at Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo. Back in the United States Mother
Cabrini started parochial schools in and around New York and an orphanage at
Dobbs Ferry. In 1899 she founded the Sacred Heart Villa on Fort Washington
Avenue, New York, as a school and training center for novices. In later years
this place was her nearest approach to an American home. It is this section of
their city that New Yorkers now associate with her, and here a handsome avenue
bears her name.

Launching across the country, Mother Cabrini now extended her activities to
the Pacific Coast. Newark, Scranton, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, Los Angeles, all
became familiar territory. In Colorado she visited the mining camps, where the
high rate of fatal accidents left an unusually large number of fatherless
children to be cared for. Wherever she went men and women began to take
constructive steps for the remedying of suffering and wrong, so powerful was the
stimulus of her personality. Her warm desire to serve God by helping people,
especially children, was a steady inspiration to others. Yet the founding of
each little school or orphanage seemed touched by the miraculous, for the
necessary funds generally materialized in some last-minute, unexpected fashion.

In Seattle, in 1909, Mother Cabrini took the oath of allegiance to the United
States and became a citizen of the country. She was then fifty-nine years old,
and was looking forward to a future of lessened activity, possibly even to
semi-retirement in the mother house at Cadogno. But for some years the journeys
to and fro across the Atlantic went on; like a bird, she never settled long in
one place. When she was far away, her nuns felt her presence, felt she
understood their cares and pains. Her modest nature had always kept her from
assuming an attitude of authority; indeed she even deplored being referred to as
"head" of her Order. During the last years Mother Cabrini undoubtedly
pushed her flagging energies to the limit of endurance. Coming back from a trip
to the Pacific Coast in the late fall of 1917, she stopped in Chicago. Much
troubled now over the war and all the new problems it brought, she suffered a
recurrence of the malaria contracted many years before. Then, while she and
other nuns were making preparations for a children's Christmas party in the
hospital, a sudden heart attack ended her life on earth in a few minutes. The
date was December 22, and she was sixty-seven. The little nun had been the
friend of three popes, a foster-mother to thousands of children, for whom she
had found means to provide shelter and food; she had created a flourishing
order, and established many institutions to serve human needs.

It was not surprising that almost at once Catholics in widely separated
places began saying to each other, "Surely she was a saint." This
ground swell of popular feeling culminated in 1929 in the first official steps
towards beatification. Ten years later she became Blessed Mother Cabrini, and
Cardinal Mundelein, who had officiated at her funeral in Chicago, now presided
at the beatification. Heralded by a great pealing of the bells of St. Peter's
and the four hundred other churches of Rome, the canonization ceremony took
place on July 7, 1946. Hundreds of devout Catholics from the United States were
in attendance, as well as the highest dignitaries of the Church and lay
noblemen. Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, the first American to be canonized, lies
buried under the altar of the chapel of Mother Cabrini High School in New York
City.

Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, Virgin, Foundress. Celebration of Feast Day is
November 13.

Taken from "Lives of Saints", Published by John J. Crawley &
Co., Inc.